The Prince of Everything
by Draconian Scribe
Summary: Behold, the long-lost chapter of "The Tales of Beedle The Bard" – a fairy tale fraught with every lesson on compassion, forgiveness, and epistemology that J.K.R. could've imparted through this pairing, but due to some unfortunate oversight, chose not to.


**DISCLAIMER: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.**

**BETA READERS: Bex-chan, silverbluewords**

**WARNINGS: Mild violence and OOC.**

* * *

THE PRINCE OF EVERYTHING

* * *

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a king and his lovely queen. Fate smiled upon them, and blessed them with everything the heavens had to offer. The king and queen were the wealthiest in the land. They lived in the biggest castle, feasted upon the most delicious food, and wore the finest clothes that gold could buy. They had servants for every task imaginable, from washing the dishes, to sweeping the floor, to brushing the king's teeth! They had servants for serving other servants, and even more servants to serve those servants!

The king and queen were also the fairest in the land, both tall and proud, with golden hair so light, soft, and clean that it almost shone white. They were the two most powerful people in the entire kingdom, and did everything they wanted, whenever they wanted. If the king declared that every man, woman, and child was only allowed to wear his favourite colour, which happened to be green, it was done.

Many years passed, and the king and queen were blessed with a beautiful baby boy. He soon grew into a handsome prince, and the heavens bestowed upon him the same fairness and fortune as his parents. Princesses from distant lands, far and wide, wept at the mere sight of his angelic beauty. He was as proud and strong as his father, and as eloquent and poised as his mother, yet his eyes… His eyes were colder and harsher than winter.

From the moment he was born, the prince had everything. He had everything he ever wanted, and everything he never needed. As he grew older, the king and queen taught him everything they knew, and he took their words to heart. He was a fast learner, eager to please his mother and father, and prepared to someday take his rightful place as heir to the throne. He simply had everything, and because of this, he believed that he knew everything. In time, he would come to realise that he knew nothing at all.

One day, as the sun was beginning to rise over their glorious kingdom, the prince awoke and took a glance at his shelf, only to realise that he had finished reading every single book in the castle library. Here he was, barely thirteen years old, and had nothing left to read. Books equated knowledge, and knowledge was power. He and his father both knew that power was the key to _everything. _A frown wrinkled the prince's face, and he suddenly began to feel quite irritated. He wanted more.

Leaping out of bed, he paced throughout his chambers, deep in thought. Then, as he passed by his window, an idea struck him. He had read hundreds of books about the peasants that lived in the village surrounding the castle. In fact, nearly each day, the guards would bring in dozens of the squirming commoners and toss them into the entrance hall to beg for forgiveness.

The ungrateful swine seemed to steal with each breath. They were always stealing. Stealing fruit from the courtyard, stealing the expensive white peacocks that roamed it, stealing the water from the moat… Truthfully, the prince would not even be surprised if they tried to steal the very grass from beneath his father's feet. He shuddered to think what manner of horrid supper they would try to brew with _grass,_ plucked out of the _dirt._

According to his mother, his father, his tutors, and the authors of all the books he had ever read, such creatures could hardly even be considered real people. No, _real_ people were the philosophers, scientists, and priests that were privileged enough to walk the halls of this castle—people who knew important things, people who knew _everything._ Perhaps apples and oranges were not all that the peasants were stealing. They could be stealing knowledge itself—knowledge from good, deserving people! That had to be why he no longer had any more books to read! If he was to be king someday, it was up to him to go out there and set things straight. The only thing that his subjects needed to learn was fear, for out of fear, comes respect.

His mind set, he waited until nightfall and donned a long, green cloak—the same colour that all of the commoners had been forced to wear. Pulling the hood over his head, he slipped out of the castle grounds and into the village. The moment he set foot in the market, his nose wrinkled with distaste. His heart, however, pounded with excitement. Finally, he might be able to learn the truth behind the unnatural existence of these thieves!

The peasants seemed to be packing up their wily wares for the day, and would likely be returning to their mud huts to cuddle with their equally grimy children. He shuffled through the crowds and tried not to stare at the wretches for _too _long, just in case he got sick. Indeed, everything was exactly the way he had always imagined it to be. Tattered clothes, dirty stalls, the whiny buzz of flies, and—WHAT IN THE NAME OF—? His jaw nearly fell off in shock as he stumbled upon the last stall.

It was a girl, about the same age as the prince. She was putting away the rest of the apples that she had not sold that day—apples as red as the cloak she wore. She floated upon a sea of green, seeming to be perfectly at ease with breaking royal law. The king himself had declared that every commoner wear the same colour, and here this girl stood, not a shred of green upon her. The prince stood, openly gaping at her foolishness and unable to believe what he was seeing.

She paused, looking up at him. Her hair was a bushy mess of brown curls, but the prince was surprised to find that she did not seem as dirty as he had assumed all peasants to be. She was almost… pretty. Her eyes were the colour of warm honey, and the prince realised that he had never seen such warmth in all his days in the castle. Something was wrong. She did not match any of the descriptions he had read in his books, or any of the stories that his parents or tutors had ever told him. She did not look like an animal at all, and although he was curious, such thoughts made him extremely uncomfortable.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. He stiffened, unsure what to say. He certainly did not want anything from a place like this, and certainly not from her. "You look lost," she continued. "Here, you can have this." She put the largest, reddest apple she had into his hand.

He gave a startled jump, gazing in both horror and fascination at the seemingly harmless fruit he was now holding. Part of him wanted to drop it on the spot, stomp it into a pulp, burn his shoes afterwards, and bathe himself in holy water. And yet, another part of him couldn't help but wonder… What would happen if he _did _take a bite? He hesitated, not knowing what to do.

Suddenly, he realised something.

"Wait, you're giving this to me? For free?" he gasped in disbelief.

"Of course," the strange girl replied, blinking at him as if _he_ were the strange one. She had already finished putting away the rest of her apples and was turning to leave.

But he wasn't finished. "Aren't thieves supposed to take things, not give them away?"

The girl stopped and turned back towards him, frowning. "What makes you think I'm a thief?"

"I just… know?" he answered uncertainly, his words sounding more like a confused question than the bold statement he had intended it to be.

"You just… know?" she repeated, now wearing a look of disbelief upon _her _face.

That made him very angry. He was the prince, after all! How dare she mock him? He threw his hood back and was satisfied to see a flash of fear in her eyes as she realised who he was. "Yes, I _do_ know, and you would do well to hold your tongue, peasant!" he shouted at her. "I see thieves and liars like you every day in the halls of my father, grovelling upon the ground and streaking it with your dirt! I've read books about _all _of your filthy lives! By divine right, I have _everything,_ and you have nothing!"

"That's ridiculous," she argued, right as he stopped to give an impressive pause. It was as if what he said did not even matter to her, and that was surely impossible. Unfortunately, she did not seem to be impressed in the least. That brief expression of fear that had been present moments before was now replaced by a fury that matched his own. "You can't possibly think that allof us are thieves, just because all of the commoners _you've_ seen happened to be caught stealing? You haven't really seen _all_ of us, so you don't really know what the rest of us are like! You just _think_ you know!"

"Oh, really?" he sneered, rising up to the challenge. "What about all the books I've read about your pathetic, disturbing lives? Surely you are not suggesting that some of the greatest scholars of the century don't 'know' what they are writing about?"

"Every scholar is a person, just like you and me," she said.

"A person? Like me? Certainly not! You're not a person! You're just a peasant! We're not alike at all!" he yelled, panicked and repulsed by the very thought.

"Some people write books, and other people read them. You're not the only one who reads! I read too! I've probably read more books than you—books you'll never have in that overstuffed library of yours," she shot back.

"My father taught me everything I know," he said quietly, his silver eyes darkening into a cold, icy storm. "Are you saying that he doesn't know anything either?"

"Do you even know if _you _know anything?" she demanded.

He glared at her. "I could have you thrown in prison for even daring to question me. In fact, I should have you thrown in prison for _everything,_ especially for not wearing green!"

"Red, green—why does it matter? It's just a colour," she replied. And with that, she finally turned and walked off into the darkness, where all colours looked the same.

That night, long after the prince had returned to the safety of his castle, he laid upon his bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the silence, unable to sleep. In his hand, he still held the apple that the annoying peasant girl had given him. He did not know why he was still holding onto it. He was not so sure if he really knew anything anymore.

He had everything, so why did he suddenly feel as if he had nothing at all? That girl in the village was the one who was supposed to have nothing, but she acted as if she had everything! She was not a mindless beast. She was not covered in mud. She was smart, and liked reading as much as he did. She gave things away instead of stealing them. But if she wasn't stealing, what else did she know, and how did she know it? She knew more about him than he knew about her! Could it be that she was right—that she was just as much of a person as he was? That they were somehow… the same? If that was true, then everything he had ever known in this castle was a lie.

Furiously, the prince shoved these traitorous thoughts aside. He refused to give in so easily. How could he be king if a mere peasant knew more than he did? Tomorrow, he decided that he would order the guards to catch her and drag her up to the castle to teach him everything she knew. Yes, that was the perfect plan! Immediately, he called for his servants and told them what he wanted. Soon, all the knowledge in the world would be his, and he would be powerful once more. Smiling for the first time since that night's marketplace adventure, he finally closed his eyes and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

The prince woke up the next morning in a wonderfully good mood. He bounded down seven flights of stairs, bade good morning to his mother and father, and ordered the servants to bring him breakfast before dashing out to the courtyard for a leisurely stroll. Today, he would put that peasant girl in her place. She would regret ever crossing paths with him when he took all of her knowledge for his own.

With a huge grin on his face, he took a big bite out of the apple she had given him yesterday. Revenge was sweet.

At noon, the sun rose to the highest point in the sky and the prince calmly strode into the entrance hall. Just as he expected, she was there, boldly donning her red cloak and struggling in vain against the three guards that were desperately trying to hold her still. She shrieked, spat, and stomped on their feet, but could not break free. She was angry, certainly, but he sensed that she was also afraid.

For the briefest moment, the prince felt something strange—something he had never felt before. He almost felt… guilty. How odd! How could he possibly be feeling guilty when, according to royal law, he was not doing anything wrong? _She_ was the one who was wearing red! _She_ should be the one feeling guilty, not him! He was the prince! He could order the guards to take a helpless girl away from her home if he wanted to! If the law stated that doing so was not wrong, then why did it not feel right? Once again, she was making him feel lost and confused, as if he knew nothing at all.

When she finally noticed him standing there, any fear or warmth that he had once seen in her honeyed eyes was immediately boiled over with hatred. Without realising it, he took a step backwards. No girl had ever looked at him like that before. And he knew everything about girls.

Of course, the only girls his age whom he had ever met were princesses from other kingdoms. They were easy to get along with. They sang to birds, twirled around in pink dresses, sipped tea, cooed sweet words, and batted their eyelashes at him. None of them had ever looked at him like they wanted to hurt him—not even his own mother! That was why all of the guards in the castle were men. It made sense. Surely it was safe to assume that women were not capable of hurting anyone.

"Dismissed," he commanded with confidence, coolly waving the guards away. They warily released her, and she stilled her movements at once. She crossed her arms and huffed as they went, but otherwise did not try to attack anyone. His logic was perfectly sound. Of course, he had known all along that women were not capable of—

Suddenly, she lunged forward and seized the hilt of his sword, which he always kept sheathed at his side. It was only for show. He did not know of any situations that would call for its actual use.

Thus, in the course of one day, three impossible things had happened. First, a girl did not like him. Second, someone wanted to hurt him, possibly wanting to kill him in the process. Third, that certain someone was a girl, and she would succeed if he did not turn around and flee. This very instant.

He was the prince of everything, and here he cowered, fearing for his life! He did not know what the afterlife was like. He did not know if there even was one. He realised that he barely knew anything about the life he was living now. Was he the real hero of this story, or was it her? Was he actually the villain? He simply did not know anymore.

With a determined glint in her eye, she swung the sword down and he ducked, covering his face with his hands and screaming like a little girl. Then, he heard another scream behind him. He turned and saw a giant snake, hissing in pain. His eyes widened in shock as the girl grabbed his hand, yanked him up, and ran, pausing every now and then to take a swipe at the monstrous creature. Its head scraped the ceiling, and its long, scaly body slithered into the entrance hall, blocking the way out. The peasant girl managed to strike the snake's eyes, likely blinding it. The sick squealing noises made his hairs stand on end and caused shivers to crawl up and down his spine.

"This way! Hurry!" he yelled, pulling her down a corridor and into the nearest room, locking the door behind them. Immediately, they both collapsed onto the floor and panted in relief, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. They heard the sharp swishes of the snake's body as it slid past, searching for its prey. Silently, the prince raged at his own folly. Where were the guards when he needed them?

Wait, why was he complaining? He was alive! ALIVE! The peasant girl had not killed him. As a matter of fact, she'd saved him! _Saved _him! She had saved him, when all he had ever done to her was call her names, yell at her, threaten her, act as if he knew everything about her, and order people to abduct her from her own home. The damsel had saved the prince. He really did not understand this girl at all, and strangely, that knowledge was somewhat tolerable.

He was about to swallow his pride, thank her, and admit that he was wrong—about everything—but he looked down and saw that her arm was bleeding. Without thinking, he rushed forward to help her.

Summoning all of his courage, he drove himself to accomplish the impossible—he willingly parted with a glorious, finely trimmed fragment of his _own _precious garments to bestow upon a woeful peasant. The peasant in question drew back a little and seemed stunned by his approach, but otherwise did not spurn his gracious gift. Her mouth fell open once or twice, perhaps to shower him with words of praise and awe at having witnessed such an impressive feat, but she could never bring herself to utter a single word. He determined that she must have been speechless with gratitude. It was completely understandable.

Although it took several valiant attempts before he succeeded, he bandaged her wounds to the best of his ability. Indeed, the task was a tad more difficult than he'd expected it to be, but eventually, he managed to defy the evil wrappings and emerge victorious. Satisfied with the results of his flawless intellect, he looked into her eyes and, for the briefest instant, wondered if she were mocking him, but his suspicions vanished when he saw that her hatred was gone. In its place was the warmth that he had seen in the marketplace. He could almost feel his own wintry eyes melting in her gaze.

His face was starting to feel quite hot, so he quickly tried to look away, but it was then that he noticed that he was bleeding too. His stomach flopped, and he felt both scared and excited at the same time. Their blood was the same colour. They were the same.

"I know now," he announced suddenly, taking up his sword. "I know the answer to everything!" She snorted in a most un-maidenly fashion, but he ignored her. "There are few things in this world that I know, and many more that I never will, but I _do_ know this: I'm alive, I'm here with you, and we are _both_ human!" She raised her eyebrows, but before she tried to offend him any further, he silenced her using the only way he knew how. He swooped down, kissed her, and heroically strode out the door. He did not need philosophers, scientists, or any other experts to tell him what he needed to do next.

By some miracle and intervention of fate, he slayed the giant serpent. Through the peasant girl, the prince finally knew of love and compassion. Years later, he convinced her to marry him, and they ruled as king and queen, learning from their subjects, learning from each other, and learning about themselves. They did not always have everything they wanted, but they had everything they needed to live happily ever after.

* * *

THE END


End file.
